


Pennsylvania Spirits

by Mello_McQueen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-10
Updated: 2010-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-11 07:30:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mello_McQueen/pseuds/Mello_McQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean is drunk, Sam is too busy (and down-right amused) to be  useful for long and Castiel is an angel-pillow who may or may not be in  love with a Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pennsylvania Spirits

**Author's Note:**

> Written at: Thursday, June 10, 2010. 5:07 P.M.

Dean’s drunk. Castiel can tell by the way his eyes are slightly dilated and his speech has a certain inflection that isn’t normally present. He can also tell by the way Dean stumbles as he walks into the motel room, slamming the door closed behind him before nearly falling on top of the angel, who is observing the hunter’s actions with interest.

When he falls, Castiel catches him on reflex and looks up at Sam who is sitting on the other bed across from him, typing on his laptop. Obviously, the younger Winchester is used to his brother’s behavior and is choosing to ignore it at present. Either that, or he is suffering from some explainable illness that has left him devoid of the use of most of his primary senses.

Castiel doubts it is the latter, but he finds it a little hard to believe that Sam can actually focus on his computer when his brother is being so …so obtrusive. And Castiel chooses this word, instead of the standard _loud_ , because Dean has actually said very little since returning from “some place quiet”, apart from “Hey guys…” and “Oof!"

Looking at Dean now, lying with half of his body on the bed (or rather, on top of Castiel really) and the rest on the floor, Castiel doubts that “some place quiet” was at all quiet. In fact, he thinks it was probably quite the opposite. “Sam-“ He begins, as he shifts on the bed and attempts to maneuver Dean away from him. Despite his obvious advantages – sobriety and superior strength mostly – Castiel finds his efforts to be more than a little difficult.

It takes him a moment to realize that this is mostly because Dean isn’t quite as unconscious as Castiel was beginning to suspect, and he is, in fact, holding on to the angel’s jacket with all the strength he can muster.

It isn’t much, given his present state, but the angle is awkward and Castiel is finding he has little room to move without causing Dean to simply fall to the floor. Part of him thinks that wouldn’t be such a terrible thing. Dean would be off of him, and it isn’t as though he would suffer any serious injuries, or any injuries at all but...

Castiel sighs. “Sam,” He tries again. “I could use your help.” And even though he isn’t looking at Sam –his eyes are glued to Dean who mutters something that sounds like “you’re really warm”, as he attempts to bury his face in the fabric of Castiel’s shirt – he can hear the tap-tap-tapping of the keys behind him cease and a moment later Sam groans.

“Dean!” The younger Winchester exclaims, and there’s a creak as he sets his computer aside and moves from the bed. “Dean, dude, how much did you have to drink?” He asks, coming into view and there’s a look on his face that Castiel thinks is somewhere between anger and amusement. Dean doesn’t respond to Sam’s question, or if he does, Castiel misses it. He is too busy attempting to reign in his frustration as Dean has somehow managed to release the death grip he had previously held on Castiel’s coat in favor of wrapping his arms around the angel’s waist.

Most of Castiel’s frustration does not actually come from this fact, as much as it comes from the fact that Castiel had oddly failed to notice this while it was happening...

“Sam, please remove your brother.” A pause. " _Now_."

Before him, Sam heaves a sigh and reaches for one of Dean’s arms, tugging on it as hard as he can without causing the elder Winchester pain. “Come on, Dean.” He says, as Castiel attempts to shift and pull away. For a moment, their combined efforts seem to prove superior as Dean relinquishes his hold, however that only lasts for a moment before his hand snaps back and he merely repositions his grip.

Behind him, Castiel can feel Dean’s arms lock around his waist and Dean grumbles something the angel can’t make out. Sam scowls at his brother’s back, momentarily, before moving forward, He leans over his brother and snakes his arms beneath Dean’s own, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling. “Dean, seriously-“ He begins with effort. “Let go!"

At this, Castiel feels Dean’s grip tighten and he presses closer to the angel, managing to maneuver himself so that he is more on the bed than he is off of it, and whines. ‘G’waysa me.” Castiel isn’t sure whether that’s “Get away from me” or “Go away, Sammy”. Either way, he supposes, it doesn’t matter.

What does matter is that Castiel can see beads of sweat starting to form on Sam’s forehead and his face is looking uncomfortably red. He is obviously beginning to wear down from his efforts.

Just as Castiel thinks this, Sam groans and says, “Dude, let Cas go, he’s an angel, not a pillow!” and gives one more massive tug before his grip on his brother slips. Castiel watches helplessly as Sam stumbles backwards and tripping, falls to the floor. He lies there for a long moment before climbing slowly to his feet and glaring at Dean’s back. Despite the look he gives his brother, Sam doesn’t lunge at him or make further attempts at extraction.

Instead, he throws his hands up into the air and growls in frustration before marching forward and ordering Castiel to “scoot-back” onto the bed. Castiel frowns but does so with difficulty. For the most part, Dean comes with him although his feet are still hanging off the bed. A moment later, Sam fixes this by reaching over, grabbing his brother’s legs and repositioning him so that he’s completely on the bed.

Then Sam removes one of Dean’s boots and Castiel frowns. “Sam…how does this help our efforts to remove him?” He asks, as Sam unlaces the other, pulls it off and drops it to the floor with a heavy ‘ _thunk_ ’.

Sam looks at him seriously as he straightens. “It doesn’t.” He says honestly, before sighing. “Sorry, Cas, but I’ve got research to do and I can’t bother with this. You’re just going to have to be an angel-pillow, for a little while.” And as he says this, he moves over to the other side of the room to retrieve his things.

Castiel, who is now positioned so that he is lying lengthwise on the bed, watches Sam pack up his computer and slip on his jacket, moving across the room to find the car keys. His expression is openly accusing. It says, this amuses you doesn’t it? As if to prove his point, when Sam stops at the door briefly he sighs. “Look, we’ve got to figure this one out Cas – and Castiel is well aware that he is referring to the hunt they are on – and besides, it’s not like he’s _hurting_ you.” And Sam purses his lips in an effort to control himself, but he can’t quite keep the smile off of his face.

“Right, well…he’ll let go eventually…”And before Castiel can ask what happens if Dean doesn’t, Sam reaches out, flicks the light-switch off (a force of habit, Castiel notes, from his months spent without his brother) and disappears out the door.

After a few seconds, Castiel hears the car start and pull out of the parking lot at a much slower (and infinitely safer) rate than it does when Dean is behind the wheel. A minute later, and he can no longer hear the rumbling sound of the engine as Sam drives off down the highway, headed towards …his Father only knows where.

In the dark, Castiel takes a deep breath and sighs, wishing he were still capable of flying. If he were, he simply would not be here any longer, he thinks, although the idea of leaving Dean alone here makes his chest twinge uncomfortably.

He makes a mental note to ask Sam about this when the younger Winchester returns, and brings his focus back to the elder of the two. As no one has tried to pull him away for a little while now, Dean begins to relax, and Castiel can feel his arms loosening their grip, still he makes no move to pull away in case Dean tightens them again.

Instead, he watches the expression on Dean’s face shift to one of contentment as he buries the side of his face in Castiel’s shirt, and despite the fact that Dean hasn’t let go, Castiel feels relieved. At least the elder Winchester isn’t attempting to burrow “through” him anymore, and as that’s the case and Castiel is now sitting rather comfortably on the bed, he thinks that this doesn’t feel too bad.

Or bad at all, really, he supposes and Dean certainly seems quite happy with their situation if the smile on his face is anything to go by. Castiel wonders how long that smile will stay if he doesn’t let go, and he wakes up like this in the morning.

At this thought, Castiel thinks that he really should have just let Dean fall on the floor to save him grief. He doesn’t say this though, instead what he says is: “You know, Dean, your brother is right. I am not a pillow."

At his words, Dean gives a sleepy moan, and shifts closer so that his head is now resting over Castiel’s borrowed heart. He says, “S’comfy.” A beat. “I’uve yoo, Cas."

A long pause follows this statement as Castiel works to make out what Dean has said, manages it, and has to work to force himself to breathe properly as his aforementioned borrowed heart gives a slight flutter at Dean’s words. It is a weird, uncomfortable and yet somehow pleasant feeling. A feeling he doesn’t have to be told the meaning to.

Slowly, Castiel reaches up and smoothes back Dean’s hair, carefully, before taking in a deep breath and lowering his hand. He pats Dean softly on the back, recalling what Sam said the last time something similar to this happened-

_“You can’t take anything Dean says seriously, at least not while he’s like this. He doesn’t always mean what he’s saying, Cas."_

-and he says, solemnly, “you are drunk, Dean."

The only response he receives to this is another sleepy moan and the soft, even sounds of steady, shallow breathing.


End file.
